Meanwhile Dr. Vaughan removes some equipment from the valise and begins boiling Warm Amber in some glassware over the Adventuress' stove. It smells like ripe plums and sea air.

"That smells lovely," the Erstwhile Seeker comments.

Dr. Vaughan considers him. "Ordinarily I'd rap you with a spoon and tell you it's for Clarabelle, but, hmm... You can have a cup after I've dosed the mother-to-be, how's that, I think there'll be some going spare."

"You're a lady of inestimable virtue and character," he responds.

"I wonder what Amber is made of. I know it's important to the Rubberies, but...not much else." 

"Some secretion of the Flukes', I suspect," Dr. Vaughan says distractedly. "Designed to absorb ambient vital energy so they can manipulate it."

"Not sure I want a taste anymore," the Erstwhile Seeker mutters

"Oh, no, the secretion is what I'm boiling off. There'll be hardly a trace of it left, don't worry, just pure vitality."

"Oh. I wonder if that could be extracted from me somehow."

The doctor considers this question. "I'm not so well-versed in lumenology, I'm sorry to say... You might be able to, mm, charge up some Deep Amber with some Mountain-Light? I don't know if it's the right kind of vitality, but really, how many kinds can there be? I'd prefer not to experiment with it right now, but if you have a spare few days you might like to visit Flute Street and see how they like your party trick."

"I'll keep that in mind, yeah. I wouldn't suggest experimenting right now anyway."

Vaughan taps her temple with two fingers. "Great minds, you know."

She casts another handful of Amber into the pot and stirs.

"--Oh, and I found out what the hell Fires thought he was doing." 

"Do tell?"

"You know how the Bazaar has this weird thing about love stories?"

She nods. "My colleagues in the literature department moan endlessly about the inspections. I thought they were Pages' doing primarily, but I'm hardly surprised they're sanctioned from above."

"Fires wanted the hybrid so he could dose the entire city with a subtler version of Moon Milk. On the grounds that this would supposedly make the Bazaar give up in disgust, and this would somehow keep London around longer instead of being replaced with a Sixth city." 

Dr. Vaughan blinks. "Well, that's... insane."

"Speaking as our resident former madman, I think we may need a stronger word," the Erstwhile Seeker says with some wonder. "I couldn't come up with a plan that divorced from reality. And we know where my plans got me."

"That was roughly my reaction. Irons wasn't impressed either, I talked to them briefly about the Rubbery thing. It turns out the Masters, uh, vary wildly, in terms of reasonableness."

"I'm glad of that, I wouldn't want to live in a city controlled by twelve Veilses."

"Yeah Veils is the worst, he's, uh, it's his fault Seeking is a thing. Aaaaand his fault that Irons never talks." 

"...Yeah. Veils the betrayer, reckoning will not be postponed, et cetera."

"Reckoning will absolutely be postponed, I don't have a good plan for taking him on yet and seeking is not allowed, Seekers will be stymied. Anyway. Fires is not Veils-level alarming but he is, uh, I think significantly worse than typical."

"We can but hope."

"Irons seemed like a basically reasonable person who is capable of following incentives!"

"I'm not saying you're wrong! I'm just saying - I don't know what I'm saying, ignore me."

Dr. Vaughan stirs the pot one last time, then ladles some out into a large, chipped mug and hands it to Clarabelle. "Drink up, there's a good girl."

Clarabelle takes a sip, then makes a delighted noise and drains the mug. She looks embarrassed, afterwards, but not so embarrassed that she doesn't perk up when the doctor takes the mug from her hands and pours in some more.

"Pregnancy cravings can be strange, especially for hybrid children. When I was pregnant with Lucy I would have done terrible things for Dark-Dewed Cherries if I had to."

Clarabelle is mollified by this.

Dr. Vaughan gives her another two mugsful, then cuts her off - "we don't want adverse effects," she comments. Then she ladles some out for Mort, who tastes some, bounces happily, and then drinks some more.

Vaughan checks Clarabelle's pulse, temperature, and assorted other vitals, and breathes a sigh of relief. "She's doing much better, but we should get to the Moon-Mother as soon as we can, I think."

"Right, okay, I can fly, the father can fly, we should probably be okay between us." 

"Am I... coming along?" asks the Erstwhile Seeker.